


Guardian Angel

by MangledLiam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, M/M, Major Illness, Minor Canonical Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangledLiam/pseuds/MangledLiam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a doctor - a fairly accomplished one. Castiel is one of his patients. A blossoming relationship begins. There's only one problem: Castiel's life expectancy is now five years. And dropping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian Angel

I always hated this part.

Being able to save peoples' lives, that was frikkin' awesome. But this part, the part where I have to tell them the diagnosis, their chances of survival? Consoling and being hopeful at the same time? That was torture. I hadn't even met the guy yet, and I knew I had to tell him he had a sixteen point one percent chance of living five years. That was the statistic anyway. That's all it is really, stats and numbers and estimations.

At least he didn't have relatives as company. That always made it worse, having to deal with scared kids and parents and spouses and great-uncles. Just him, alone in my office. I took a deep breath, glanced down at the file again, and headed in.

“Castiel, right? Castiel Novak?” I asked, and the paling man stood, turning to look at me. He seemed almost sheepish, in some way, with dark brown hair ruffled up to make him look a little taller. He was, after all, about an inch or two shorter than I was, with a five o' clock shadow and the kind of puppy-dog eyes I could only picture on someone below the age of twelve. They made him look sincere. Kind.

I always hated this part.

He glanced to the brass nameplate on my desk – he had brilliant blue eyes, the color I only dreamed about – and made an assumption. “Doctor Winchester, I presume.” His voice was gruff, low-pitched, with the slightest tinge of worry. Of course he was worried.

I headed behind my desk, nodding slightly and resisting the urge to correct him with “ _That's a mouthful, Dean is just fine._ ” Instead I leafed through the file: The X-rays, the CT scans, the diagrams and charts. Damn statistics again.

“It's good that you got in to see us so quickly.” I tried, putting a little positive spin on it. _What am I saying? I'm looking at a dead man._ “Makes this a little more manageable.” _Like hell._

“Please, just...” The way he said the 'please' made my gut wrench. “What is it?”

_Alright, I won't cushion it then. Sheesh._

“It's what we were thinking at first.” Pause while I took a deep breath. “Pancreatic Cancer. Stage three.” Those blue eyes shot down to the floor, and I watched the same crumpling effect I'd seen so many times already. His head bent forward, a hand secured itself on the arm of the chair, and he went silent. I continued quickly, before he could start the process of denial turning to rage.

“We caught it much earlier than we could have expected, though. With the proper treatment, you could be back to your everyday life within a year.”

“But?” The word was quiet, and he was scared, I could tell.

“No but.” I said, almost instantly. “It is entirely possible to remove surgically, and following up with chemotherapy, we are very likely looking at a curable case. I have high hopes.”

At least, I was trying to give myself some. He looked up at me, and I was cheered up a little by the fact that he seemed to not be crying – _yet,_ the voice in the back of my head added.

“How soon can we start?” He asked, hope trickling into his voice where worry had been a minute before. I smiled at him, my trademark smile that I usually reserved for late-night bar outings.

“I can send you home with some preparatory medication tonight, if that sounds good. You'll have to return fairly regularly so we can keep an eye on everything. Sound like a plan?”

Castiel nodded, trying shakily to match my smile. “Sounds like a plan.” It seemed almost as though he was copycatting my tone of voice, but maybe I was just imagining it. I stood up again, holding out a hand to him. He shook it as he stood, and I couldn't help but notice that his hand – without the cancer-caused thinness of his muscles – would have pressed perfectly against mine.

My smile grew a fraction of an inch.

~

I was assigned Castiel's case full-time – We were short-staffed, despite the fact that he really should have had a team working with him. The next time he came in, he looked even worse.

He sat on a cot in his own room, wearing the required pale blue shirt and keeping himself under the thin blanket. Even through the fabric I could tell he had lost weight – rather rapidly – and was practically shivering in the seventy degree room. I knocked lightly on the door, and he looked at me with rapt focus.

“Hello again.” He tried to smile, even if it was fake, and something in my chest started tripping over itself.

“Hey,” I responded, miraculously coherent. “How have you been feeling?” I had a pen already out, keeping my grip on it so tight I was shaking a little. I started taking notes as he spoke.

“Still losing weight, you probably noticed. Shaking more often. And pain, through here.” Castiel gestured to his stomach, and I nodded. Something to work with.

“That's pretty common. Lay on your back, would you?” I took a few steps closer as he nodded and shifted, wincing a little as he did so. I frowned when I saw that, setting down the file on his side table. “Let me know if I do somethin' that hurts, alright?”

Slowly, I pressed careful fingers against his ribs, feeling his skin give way a little more than it should under the gentle pressure. I tried not to notice my heartbeat speeding up, and the warmth rising from my chest into my face. I worked my way down towards Castiel's – my patient's, I reminded myself quickly – abdomen, until I heard him take a sharp breath.

“Ow,” He breathed, and I moved my hand away instantly, making a note of where my fingers had stopped. After a moment, I let curiosity get the best of me and carefully moved my hand upward. I let it rest against his chest, just low enough to feel his heartbeat.

It was just as fast as mine. Faster, even.

Castiel seemed to realize right after I did. “I, ah... I'm just nervous, that's all.”

I tried to laugh it off, giving him another smile as he sat upright again. “Yeah, I can bet.” I shut my eyes briefly, forcing my heart to slow down, and skimmed through the file again. Not like I needed to – I'd memorized the whole thing within a few hours of meeting the guy. He opened his mouth as if to speak.

“So, do you have any family? Close friends?” I interrupted before he could start. He swallowed whatever he had been about to say, shaking his head.

“It's just me and Meg.”

“Meg... Your girlfriend?”

He laughed as if he found some weird hidden meaning in the question. It was a light, rhythmic sound, somehow more soothing to me than my Impala's engine surging to life. “No, that's not really my... forte. Meg is my cat.”

He said 'forte' as though he chose the word carefully, like he was trying to get a point across without saying it outright. It brought a smile to my face again, his careful tone with a hint of nervousness.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, and could practically feel both of our hearts speed up. He looked at me with wide eyes, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I might be imagining this whole attraction thing. I frantically looked for something to fill the silence with.

“How've the meds been treating you? No weird feelings, stuff like that?”

“Not that I've noticed...”

“Good, alright.” I glanced down at the file again. “I-I think you're good to go for today then. Keep on the same meds, and next time you come in we'll start with the next phase. Is Tuesday alright for ya? Same time?”

He nodded to me, and I made a quick note of the date, offering him a hand to get to his feet. The entire time, I was mentally hitting myself. I was stuttering like a damn high school chick.

I couldn't stop the smile on my face, though, as his hand pressed against mine again.

“Need any other help?” I asked, glancing at his stack of clothes on the side table. I realized about a second too late how awkward that must have sounded, but Castiel seemed not to notice. He shook his head.

“No, I should be fine.”

“Alright. See ya Tuesday, Castiel.” Just before I left the room, he coughed.

“Just Cas is fine.” The same smile overtook my expression – I was getting pretty used to it being there.

“Okay, Cas.”

~

“Jesus Christ.” I groaned, sliding into one of the plastic chairs of the break room.

“You called?”

“Not you, Benny.”

“Damn.” My dark-bearded best friend sat down across from me, cup of coffee already in hand.

“You didn't happen to get me one of those, did you?” I looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head.

“Last of the pot, brother.” He stated, shrugging a little. I visibly winced at the sentence, leaning my arms on the table. Benny sighed, seeming to pity me, since he slid the cup across the table to me. “You look like you need it.” He got to his feet again, heading back to the machine to make a fresh batch of liquid heaven.

“Something like that...” I trailed off, my focus going to the cup in front of me. I barely took a sip before Benny interrupted again.

“So what's her name?” I narrowly avoided spitting it out again. After a deep gulp, I replied.

“What?”

“You've got the look, Dean.”

“You're imagining things. I don't have any 'look'.” _How the hell does he know._ I leaned back, drinking again, a little more confidently.

“You're the worst liar I've met.” He was right. I couldn't lie to him. Anyone else, I could convince of anything I wanted. Benny was a special case.

“... Not a her.” His hand almost went through the coffee filter.

“Not a her.” He repeated, looking at me. I shook my head, keeping my eyes closed. Maybe he wouldn't notice the warmth that crept into my cheeks as I thought about what I was going to explain to him. “Does it happen to be a new patient of yours?”

I nodded, forcing myself to relax. It didn't really work. “His name is Cas.”

“Nickname?”

“Yeah. Just heard it today.”

“If he's a patient, it's kind of doomed before it's gonna start, brother. You know that, right?”

“You think I can help it?” I shot back, before I could think about it too much. Benny scratched at the back of his head, looking at me with a pitying expression on his face.

“Alright, I hear ya. I'm not gonna judge.”

I couldn't help being bitter about it. I snapped at him. “Good.” He sighed, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“Just... If you're gonna get your hopes up, you'd better do your job better than you have been.” I snapped my eyes shut, the simple statement feeling like a stab to the gut.

“I hear you, Benny.” I pictured Cas' face again. Somehow it came to mind easier than Lisa's did. I felt a little glad for that. “I hear you.”

~

All I could see was darkness. The sky was black, not a star to be seen. The usual sounds of crickets and wolves were entirely gone, my heavy breathing the only proof that I wasn't going deaf. I ran along the ground, miraculously staying upright as the grass gave way beneath my boots.

Suddenly, a light from behind me caught my attention, bright enough to be a low-flying airplane. I ducked just as the light shot over me, way too fast. The light grew and spread, and I looked up to see a bright white shooting star that almost blinded me. It dimmed and went out just as it hit the ground, leaving a gentle glow in its wake. It lit up the space in front of me, along with a smoothly polished gray headstone with flowers almost covering up the name. I knew who it was. I knew, despite the strangeness and despite the flowers that I had laid there myself earlier in the week, that the headstone held the name “Lisa Braeden” engraved in its surface.

I knew where this dream had to go, though. I had to acknowledge that it was her. I crouched down, shifted the flowers out of the way, and stared at the headstone. “Castiel Novak”.

I yelped, slipping backwards, and woke up in a cold sweat. I sat up shaking, my eyes wide, hardly able to focus. I couldn't tell how long I sat there, shivering with terror and trying not to move. Eventually it occurred to me to check the time: 3:23 am. I shut my eyes, rubbing them with one hand – the other I kept fisted into the sheets, anchoring myself to reality.

There was no way I was getting back to sleep.

Instead, I untangled my legs from the sheets, swinging them off of the bed and standing up. I grabbed a bottle of water from my side table and gulped it down hungrily, my throat feeling dry from sleep. More than half the bottle was gone before I lowered it, breathing deep.

Before I really registered it, my boots were on and I was in the garage, staring at my Baby, the Impala. It was black, a '67 model that I'd inherited from my dad when I got accepted into FDCU. When we were kids, me and my brother, Sam, had left all kinds of crap in it. There were several lego pieces stuck in some of the vents, and a green army man shoved into the ashtray compartment – I'd left them in there even after I inherited it. It just felt like they belonged there, like those little things were part of the car now. I couldn't bear to dig them out and throw them away.

Releasing a long-held breath, I popped open the hood of the car. I looked over the engine that had become nearly second nature to me in the past few years, letting out another low sigh.

After about an hour of tuning up and humming along to AC/DC, my exhaustion returned, and I yawned loudly, shutting the hood of the car once again. I barely registered my trip back to bed.

~

I woke up again to Colonel licking at my hand from the side of my bed. I groaned lowly and rolled over, barely catching myself before I fell on top of him. He seemed to give me a look that said “you're really _that_ tired?” before padding away to the doorway. I sluggishly worked my way to my feet, thinking through my day. My mind suddenly brought up Castiel, and I couldn't contain a grin. I felt like I had an extra bounce in my step as I got myself dressed.

Colonel was waiting for me in the kitchen, staring up at me with the cocked head and wagging tail combo that only German Shepherds can really pull off. I rolled my eyes at him and started to make a pot of coffee while he dodged underneath my feet, threatening to trip me.

With caffeine brewing in its pot, I headed over to the corner to get Colonel the food he seemed so eager for. He had somehow gotten distracted by the smells coming from the counter, so it took him a second to bound his way over as dog food pellets clattered into his bowl. I practically had to jump out of the way to avoid him knocking me to the ground.

Sighing, I got to making my own breakfast, which I knew would be a pretty unsuccessful endeavor. Nevertheless, bread to the toaster, eggs to the skillet. Or was it just a pan? Whatever.

As soon as the eggs were safely mixed in the pan/skillet and prepared for scrambling, my coffee maker beeped to inform me my energy dose of the morning was ready. I glanced cautiously at the eggs, then went to pour myself a cup. I was still exhausted from last night, and I hadn't thought to wipe the grease stains off of my hands, as I noticed. I took another minute to wash my hands thoroughly in the sink, scrubbing soap into the thick callouses that covered them.

By the time I got back to my station at the stove, I had to get the eggs broken up. I lost myself in thought as I did so, my mind traveling back to crystal-blue puppy dog eyes.

Eventually, as I dumped the healthy portion of eggs onto a plate, I remembered the toast.

 _Shit._ I rushed over to the toaster and ejected my now blackened pieces of bread – I didn't think they deserved the title of toast anymore. I groaned, poking one of them with a fork, and the black mass cracked entirely in half. Another sigh. I went back over to just eat my eggs.

After I finished – the eggs were awesome, the exact opposite of the not-toast – I tentatively offered the black stuff to Colonel. He lapped it out of my hand, there was a brief crunching sound, and then there was no more not-toast. The dog was a frikkin' garbage disposal.

I patted him lightly on the head, grabbed my bag of notes – I'd stayed up until midnight reading about Castiel (again) – and headed out to my Impala.

~

I arrived at the hospital with a tiny grin on my face. One of the morning secretaries, Jo, obviously noticed. She smiled sweetly at me and asked about it.

“Did you have a good date or something?”

“Uh...” I started, instinct forcing the blush out of my cheeks and my grin to go a little wider instead. “Something like that.” I gave her a classic wink, the kind that made her roll her eyes and turn away in some semblance of disgust. So I was a playboy. Some chicks thought it was hot as hell – Jo included, when she wasn't at work.

“One of your patients came in a few minutes ago, said he didn't have an appointment today, but it was urgent. He's in Exam Room 2.”

“Did you get his name, at least?” My stomach was very quickly sinking lower in my torso, my heart following after it.

“I pulled out his file... Ah, here.” She finished, tugging a manila folder out from the stack on her desk. “Novak, Castiel.” She looked back up, I supposed, but I was already halfway down the hall to the exam rooms.

Cas was sitting very calmly on the cot, fingers laced together in his lap. He smiled charmingly at me, puppy eyes gleaming in the bright light.

“Jo said it was an emergency, what happened?” I asked, forgetting my professional courtesy somewhat. He shook his head, very purposefully.

“I said it was urgent. Not an emergency. I suppose it got you here faster, though?”

Numbly, I nodded. Cas continued in his same gruff voice. Now that the panic was subsiding, the voice brought shivers to my spine again. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the other day. A more, erm. Personal level?”

 _Oh shit._ “Oh, that wasn't, um. That wasn't anything. I just...”

He seemed to deflate as I denied it. “Just...?” He repeated, the blue in his eyes dimming slightly. _Wait, what?_ I stared at him.

“Just... wondering what everything meant. Last time.”

“Well. I know that if you noticed something, I did as well.”

“You what?” My heart was trying very hard to keep going at its fastest possible pace. Cas lowered his eyes, expression thoughtful. “I mean, if you were thinking there was a, um, an attraction there...” I squirmed internally as I realized how much of a mistake I could have just made. “There probably was...?” _Well okay, mouth. That's not what I wanted you to say, but sure._ I winced, my eyes shutting of their own accord, and tried to lose track of what was going on.

My trying turned out to be successful, because barely a second passed before there was a pair of lips against my own. It took me a moment to place them, my brain reeling through too many processes at once.

 _Castiel_ was kissing _me_.

And I was very happy to kiss back.

**Author's Note:**

> Stats are not quite accurate. Slightly Dramatized For Drama Sake.  
> Written based on a prompt by Chloe (you know who you are).


End file.
